Her Majesty's Secret Service (Military Intelligence) Op '00Q'
by ThePointGirl
Summary: Insights into the relationship of Q and 007, through Q, 007, the late M, Mallory, Moneypenny and other people who stare long enough at the pair. Rated M for later chapters.
1. 001

**Title:** Her Majesty's Secret Service (Military Intelligence) Op. '00Q'

**Disclaimer: **I don't own James Bond franchise.

**Notes: **7 chapter drabbles because I was bored.

**WARNING: **GENDERBENDED CHARACTERS! (for this first chap only)

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**-BEAUTY-**

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001.

Q had never been drawn to beauty. She found all the beauty, freedom and liberty nonsense of the US to be decidedly shallow. This had been her philosophy until she met 007. She had heard the stories, the gossip, but nothing prepared her quite for that meeting. Q had adjusted her glasses, sat down in her dark green raincoat, and said -

'It always makes me feel a little melancholy - a grand old war ship, being ignominiously hauled away to scrap. The inevitability of time, don't you think? What do you see?'

Lovely. She had managed to sound like an Art History graduate from Oxford.

'A bloody big ship. Excuse me' Jane pushed up from her seat to leave.

Bugger.

Q always liked Turner.

Jane Bond. Weary from not staying in one time zone long enough, body resurrecting itself, blue eyes – although stunning – reflecting devastation and traitorous friends. 007 was beautiful.

'007. I'm your new Quarter-mistress'

'You must be joking' and she knew 007 was used to male _watchers._

'Why, because I'm not wearing a lab coat?' Q replied, swiftly, ignoring the blaringly obvious because – really.

'Because you still have spots' Q didn't, her complexion had always been rather good, but she new what the double-oh meant. Youth, the new era.

'My complexion is hardly relevant'

'Your competence is' _Ouch._ Hmm.

'Age is no guarantee of efficiency' Q snidely responded.

'And youth is no guarantee of innovation' So that had struck a nerve.

'I'll hazard I can do more damage on my laptop sitting in my pyjamas before my first cup of Earl Grey than you can do in a year in the field' she was aware that putting down the other woman's job was probably not the best way to begin their preliminary meeting, however Q liked her.

'Oh, so why do you need me?' oh god she sounded fed up.

'Every now and then, a trigger has to be pulled' Jane looked at her for what felt like the first time in all their interaction.

They were sat just close to be acquaintances, the tension indicating no more than that. In The National Gallery, no one pays much attention, their focus on the art works.

'Or not pulled. It's hard to know which in your pyjamas' Jane said. She should be curled up in a warm bed, but the humour in her eyes said she didn't want to be. 'Q' and Jane held out her hand.

A rough press of a hand that had gripped too many guns, knives against Q's own smaller softer one.

'007'

Beauty and strength. For England, for life, for reason.

They would become beautifully notorious: Jane Bond and her Quarter-mistress.


	2. 002

**Title**:Her Majesty's Secret Service (Military Intelligence) Op. '00Q'

**Disclaimer: **Don't own it.

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**-LOVE-**

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Love is composed of a single soul inhabiting two bodies - that's Aristotle.

Q had realised that thought at Oxford, falling for the boy who became a good friend of his. Who had only met Q due to his dark red, leather covered, solid cricket ball, which came rolling through Q's open door while he had been slowly unpacking. Apologies, smiles, introductions, friendship, love.

H. L. Mencken once said, Love is like war: easy to begin but very hard to stop.

Q, attached this phrase to his growing affection for Bond. The onset had been surprisingly easy – given that Bond could not be further from his type than any man Q had come across. Q's ex-boyfriends had been slim, dark haired, effacing, sweet, and could talk about Oscar Wilde for hours. Bond was well built, strong, blond, confident, brash and lonely. Q had been led to believe the man had no interest in poetry or any kind of art – refer to first encounter – but got a ginormous shock when the same man muttered –

'Something is rotten in the state of Denmark'

Q blinked. Bond was in Denmark, tracking a rather obnoxious character who had clearly gathered his henchmen to keep a lookout. Five to be precise, all looking a little like bulldogs and out of place in the context of the silky, upmarket bar. What Bond had said was Shakespeare, Hamlet, Act 1 Scene 4, Marcellus.

'Heaven will direct it', smiling slowly, mimicking Horatio's words.

'Nay let's follow him' Bond replied, and did just that as their mark got up from his seat and left the main lounge of the bar.

'Watch your back. The signal is going to be an abomination' Q said sharply, only half sure 007 was listening.

Only when he was at home, late that night, did he fall onto his sofa, cover his hands over his face and laugh manically to no-one who wasn't listening. This was utterly insane.

That had been what had done it. He had fallen for 007 because he quoted Hamlet at him! His classics teacher would have hit Q over the head with Kant.

After the fact, Q found heard that unlike when he addressed M, Bond called him '_Sir' _with amusement but no spite.

Of course, it didn't matter if you loved 007.

Him loving you, that is where the world jars and relies whether you move with it or not.

Q had revoked his command with 007 after the fiasco in March, filling out a transfer form. Bond, naturally, was furious about only knowing through a piece of paper and consequently Tanner, but also he refused field work until Q was his quartermaster once again.

Oh, the paperwork.

Moneypenny gave him that smile one evening, the one which told him she knew something but that something she was not going to tell you.

Compromised. That's the word used when agents of MI5 fall in love and don't _think _in the way the British Government wanted them to.


End file.
